She made a step forward. "Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. If we were set upon I could not defend you. Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes.
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